Afterthoughts
by Thinkmaster
Summary: New fanfic! I'm not asking for much, just r and r. I'm proud of this one, but if you want to say it flat out sucks than you can do that. Flamers are welcome.


Hey dudes, 'sup? It's been a loooooong time since I did another fanfic, thought I'd give it a go. This one's nice, had it floating around in my head for some time. Don't worry, Exeter, Samus, Johnny and the rest'll still get their dues, I've just been busy for a bit. School's beginning to pinch, y'know? Haven't written in a helluva long time. The TM's still got something up his sleeve, though, don't worry. Not like I have fans anyway, but I like the image.

Now then, where were we? Ah, yes. Salute your opponent. Put your helmets on. Fencers ready? Enguarde and fence!

"_Bastard!"_

_The long sword stuck into him like an embedded splinter, the barbs along the hilt tearing into and through flesh and bone. The stark white skin of the two combatants, stained by his blood and his alone, gave them a surreal quality as the light of the fires, fed by the spilled gunpowder, played off their bodies. The sword withdrew itself from the lesser foe, taking sinewy chunks of muscle along with it._

He was a kind man, a man whose spirit had been burduned with trouble after trouble until it was broken and bruised, hanging on to one last shred of hope. His body reflected his spirit; he walked with his hands shoved down deep into his pockets, hunched over as if carrying a great weight. His footsteps were heavy and his hood covered his head entirely. Occasionally he would look up and a pair of dull grey eyes would peer out of the hood, looking for some imperceptible path that would bring him back into the past, up among the azure sky in a throne of clouds, second only to the gods, high above the litany of excessive violence and corruption he had descended into. Occasionally his old self would break through the clouds of his depression; his eyes would regain that same bright intensity he once had, unblemished by drink, as vague thoughts of a second chance flowed through his head like sweet honey. Then, just as quickly, the clouds of depression moved to fill the gap and he was miserable again.

Other than his eyes, the one thing that had taken the most damage was his walk. That once commanding, confident stance of his had degraded into a slouching shuffle of feet, his purposeful grin now a soulless, blank stare, his chin buried in his old, faded cloak.

A twig snapped. Suddenly he snapped into attention and he was back at Trafalgar, trying to make his way back to the home base while dodging hidden Kraiths. It was a lethal game of sneak and counter sneak. If one revealed himself too early, they'd cut him down and use his body as a lure, wearing the skin to attract others. It took a skilled eye to tell the difference between a Bonewalker and a real human, one needed to look at the stance, the gait and the eyes. Every tree swept at him with wooden claws. Every rock stared menacingly, ready to trip the unwary passerby.

He came out from in the tree, dropping back onto the bath and resuming his shuffle across the forest. Still, his eyes had at least regained their former perceptiveness in the face of a possib;e danger, and darted back and forth, observing and analyzing every possible hiding place.

Another noise. Instinctively getting ready to leap off the path, he waited a bit. This one was...different. It was clean, pure, not the quick, sharp crack of a hidden assassin's mistake or the harsh shout of a warning call. This one was soft, even enjoyable. He began to walk torwards the noise before stopping himself. It was a woman's song, strong and pure. Perhaps a siren? It could be a trap. He continued on, however warily.

As he got closer, the sound got louder. Yes, that was definitely a woman's voice, singing. It was clear, clean cut, not the slightest bit sharp or flat. No lyrics, but it was a sweet, happy tune, telling of the fields and the flowers, the sky and the mountains and nature. This was too clean, too innocent to be a siren's song. Perhaps a nymph? True, there was a river nearby and they did seduce men. However, nymphs were at least friendly, and didn't want to kill their victims. But then they'd sing of the water, not of he forest green...

It was pure, untamed, wild, and most importantly it cut through his depression like a golden shaft of light. He began to push onwards, faster and faster as he lost control, over rocks and fallen logs, leaping over streams and shoving away ferns and saplings. He _must_ get to that noise! He stumbled over rocks, slid down ravines and then climbed the other side, tripped, went on all fours for a bit and then redoubled his efforts.

He was getting close now, _so close_ as that sweet singing filled his ears and his original pose, his masterful composure and that intelligent, piercing brightness in his eyes returned as he seemed to devour the singing, so sweet was it's tune that it seemed to not only uplift him mentally but physically as well. There was more light now, the trees were thinning-

Suddenly, he broke through the wood into a clearing. Through the middle of it ran a small river, and on a small stump sat a girl, the source of those ethereal tones. Hearing the noise, she called out. "Hello?" Oh, even when she wasn't singing her voice could rival that of an angel's! And the girl...she was beautiful, perhaps 19 or 20, dressed in a simple cotton dress with brown embroidery near the men of the long skirt. Her hair was an entire autumnal forest in fill bloom, a silken cascade of red that gave way to beautiful hues of gold. Her figure was slim, athletic, her skin a pale, creamy complexion that blended perfectly with her lively green eyes. Satisfied no one was there, she began to sing again, laughing and dancing around the wood. She was bursting with vitality, untamed, happiness personified and unchecked.

Another twig snapped. She heard it too, and halted her singing (such a pity). "Hello? Is anybody there?" she stared off into the wood, a naturel blanket for the astute assassin. Eventually he discerned a shimmer by that rock, a bend in the light, something almost imperceptible in that...one...spot..._oh sweet Jesus._

"KRAITH!" Leaping from his hiding spot, he sprinted down the hill at full tilt, just barely intercepting the assassin as it lunged for it's target. The Kraith is a reptilian creature, standing about six feet tall and covered with a mass of black scales. The iris of it's eye is black, the rest an angry inflamed orange. Normally it is armed with a longsword or battle axe, paired with a wooden or iron buckler.

The First Cardinal Rule of Escort missions; keep yourself between the principal and the attacker. It circled to the left; he matched it's movements. It tried to dodge down and to the right, and he blocked it's charge with his heavy boot. Then it feinted to the left, ducking to the right again and leaping over his head. The girl, having no idea what the hell was going on, screamed as the fearsome creature leapt for her with a snarl.

"Got ya!" He grabbed onto it's tail, stopping it in mid air and causing it to slam to the ground. He then pinned it, and the two rolled around on the ground in a flurry of feet and fists and claws.

First rile of improvised combat; everything is a weapon. Taking a fallen hemlock branch, he viciously beat the Kraith over the head again and again until it's black oily blood pooled and ran into the river. Breathing heavily and rubbing his shoulder, Corrin Carth got up to find that the maiden had run away...wait! What was that? A shimmer of white among the trees! Corrin gave chase.


End file.
